


Already Gone

by DichotomyStudios



Series: Snapshots [3]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Childhood Sweethearts, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Heartbreak, M/M, Slash, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-21
Updated: 2011-05-21
Packaged: 2017-10-19 15:50:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/202545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DichotomyStudios/pseuds/DichotomyStudios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As an adult, Chris Larabee knows how important it is to burn his bridges while he still has control of the flame. Buck Wilmington may have taught him that lesson when they were still teenagers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Already Gone

**Author's Note:**

> * This snapshot was taken while Chris and Buck are in high school, several months after [The Ballad of Cat and Dog.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/434979)   
> * The consensual teenage sex in this is not graphic but still present.
> 
> Thanks to [Artisan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/artisan447) for her awesome red pen of love and [Charlotte](http://archiveofourown.org/users/charlottechill) for endless encouragement. And shrieking and cursing. ;) Much love to [BMP](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BMP) for, well, everything. Whatever is still wrong is mea culpa.

“A loaf of bread, don’t forget the butter, and a gallon of milk. I heard you the first time, Momma.” Buck made hand-puppet motions behind his mother’s back, entirely for Chris’ benefit, and then became the picture of innocence when she whirled on him.

“Bucklin G., you bring me my change this time, you hear? That girl works in that store. You don’t need to be buying her soda pop with my money. I’m pretty sure she gets breaks or benefits for being an employee.”

With false cheer, Chris said pointedly, “Yeah, Buck. Bring your mother her money.”

“Thank you, honey,” she said, inclining her head demurely to Chris. Only Buck’s mother could make employee sound like three separate foreign words and then showcase regal attitude in the next breath. Chris smiled at her.

Buck casually backhanded Chris in the stomach while making cow eyes at his mom. “I only did that the one time.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and raised her brows. “Twice now. And you can tell your story walking, can’t you? Go on, get.”

Chris followed Buck to the door but Angelica Wilmington’s voice stopped him in mid-step.

“Hold it right there, Blondie. Where do you think you’re going? Buck don’t need your help carrying one bag of food home, and if you’re gonna stay and eat, then I need your help here.” She pointed at the big steaming pot of potatoes on the stove and said, “Get to mashing, kid.” Her eyes narrowed and she swung her reaper-like finger over to Buck. “And you. _Hurry up_.”  

The boys shared raised eyebrows between them, and Buck grinned at Chris. “Don’t worry. You’re too skinny to wind up on the menu. ’Sides, I’ll be back in two shakes and those short legs of yours’ll only slow me down.” He made a show of straightening to his full height advantage over Chris, all scant inch of it, and added a few more centimeters by pointing his nose in the air, blue eyes twinkling.

Hiding a laugh, Chris huffed and grabbed Buck by his letterman jacket, shoving him toward the rickety steps. As Buck carelessly loped away Chris leaned in the doorway and secretly appreciated Buck’s long, fast body. Buck’s thick, dark hair made bronze by the setting sun.

When they’d first met, Buck had been totally different. Not just shorter but quiet and withdrawn. He’d stood out as a late start student new to the school but his charity-case clothes brought him merciless teasing. He hardly spoke two words to anybody and surely didn’t like to look people in the eye.

Once they’d become friends, Buck had come out of his shell like a horse out of the starting gate. He learned what it was to be popular and never forgot it. And more than Chris, Buck was a people pleaser, a crowd pleaser. He took to popularity like a duck to water, and now Chris couldn’t imagine Buck without backbone and swagger. It was amazing how much could change in one year.

It was amazing how much could change in one night.

Chris was still daydreaming of Buck’s soft lips and serious eyes when Angelica Wilmington called him to quit dawdling and get his butt in the kitchen.

While they waited on Buck, Chris helped where he could until he ran out of things to do, so he started setting the table. The Wilmington’s hated doing dishes. Paper plates and cheap utensils were always handy, and Chris had long since gotten over feeling weird about placing a proper setting with whatever mismatched items were available.

Looking for clean glasses, he yanked open the cabinet doors and used them to fan the haze away from his face, overwhelmed by the combination of Angelica's chain smoking, the frying catfish, and the small enclosed living space. He coughed and blinked watery eyes at his own name on the weekly chore list stuck to the fridge. It might be a tiny trailer in a poor neighborhood but it was a home, not just a big, empty house, and he smiled and shook his head, choking a little more.

When Buck’s mother cracked a window and waved an apology in his direction, he realized the exhaust fan over the stove didn’t work anymore. And the smoke alarm should have gone off already. He would have to ask one of the Larabee-retained electricians to schedule another trip to the Wilmington home. Ricky was sweet on Buck’s mom and would be more than willing to help.

Chris was sweet on her, too, just in a different way.

He didn’t want to jinx anything by putting a name to it, even after all this time, but he enjoyed being around her. She was pushy and nosy and loud and she talked too much and smoked too much and asked entirely too many personal questions. She was always trying to feed him, and her raw honesty could be embarrassing.

But she cared about Chris. Openly. Obviously.

So much that Buck would sometimes mockingly accuse Chris of being her favorite right before an impromptu wrestling match would break out on the tattered carpet and she would yell at them to take it outside before they broke one of her valuables. Her thrift-store valuables.

The woman had an odd sense of worth but Chris couldn’t complain. She made him feel like one of her valuables, too.

If his own mother could see him coughing up a lung in a tiny, smoke-filled kitchen with the worn wood cabinets and the peeling linoleum floor, she’d probably have Chris fumigated and deodorized before he was allowed back on Larabee property.

Sighing, he noticed items half-hidden at the back of the cupboard and removed their dusty, plastic wrappings to find expensive glassware. He didn’t understand why there were only three, an incomplete set, but he admired the clean, simple lines and recognized the floral motif. There was a similar set in the Larabee house but there they rated everyday usage, taken for granted and easily replaced, and in the Wilmington home they were… what? Something treasured and overprotected? He decided to put them on the table in place of the usual plastic tumblers and laughed at the paradox of the place setting. Paper, plastic, and crystal. He couldn’t decide whether it was charming or ridiculous.  

Buck’s mom appeared at his shoulder. “Hey, I kinda forgot I had those.” She almost touched one crystal glass but stopped, looking at the gravy on her hands. She sat and admired them instead, her face wistful and sweet. “They’re so pretty. And there’s three of them. Perfect for us tonight.”

She smiled at him, pleased, and then squawked, making Chris jump back as she ran for the kitchen, cursing at whatever was burning on the stove. A minute later she came back to the tiny dinette and collapsed heavily into one of the chairs, announcing dinner was as done as she could make it.

They both looked at the clock on the wall at the same time, trading scowls and a sense of resignation as distant thunder rumbled long and low.

“Probably forgot what he was supposed to be doing. Probably giving hisself blue balls chatting up that girl again.” Chris didn’t think she was talking to him, but he blushed anyway.

She crossed her legs and lit a fresh cigarette, taking a hard drag and making the ash flare red hot for too long. When she spoke, her voice was harsh. “I don’t want that for him, that kind of catting around. Didn’t want that boy to have nothing of his father. Didn’t even give him his damn name, but here we are, and he’s the spitting image. Looks like him, talks like him, struts like him.”

She glanced contritely at Chris and softened her voice. “Didn’t do him any favors, either, I guess, raising him on the road. But we managed okay. I never thought schoolwork was an important thing. Not compared to having a roof over our heads or putting food on the table. We had to eat, right?” Her earnest nodding begged Chris to agree with her so he did. He understood the priorities of survival, even if he’d never had to deal with them. Not like that, anyway.

Long ashes clung stubbornly to the cigarette in her hand as she used it like a pencil, writing exclamations in the air. “I’m glad you got him thinking about college, kiddo. Got him through all those summer classes and pushed him so hard to catch up to where he ought to be in school. Heck, even the football helped. You done a lot for him and I appreciate it.”

“But,” she said, tapping her cigarette against the ashtray and regarding him with sly eyes, “I know you bought him that letterman jacket the same way you been sending people to fix my things around here. I know them folks ain’t charging me the going rate for services rendered, young man.” Chris froze, not realizing she was so clear on the score. “We may be poor, but we're proud, and we pay our debts. I don’t believe in handouts, no sir. And I don’t want Buck learning to take whatever he can get like a lot of other men out there. I know you’re just trying to help, and it ain’t your fault, but damned if that boy didn’t find his sassy side here. Acts like he’s cock of the walk.”

Chris offered a, “Yes, ma’am,” and bit his lip, thinking about how much Buck had changed and how many times he and Buck had gotten into trouble together. It wasn’t like they went looking for it. Trouble just followed them like a stray dog waiting to be fed. Maybe he was more responsible for Buck’s behavior than Miss Wilmington thought, but he didn’t feel the need to say so.

She grumped and threw her hands in the air. “I say we eat. I think Bucklin’s done forgotten all about us by now. No sense in letting the food get any colder. We ain’t gonna have butter and milk in the mashed taters ‘til he shows up. Hope that’s okay.”

She rounded up the big plate of catfish and started serving while Chris walked to the window and listened to the wind howl through the screened front door, making the metal rattle against the frame. The temperature was dropping and he could smell water in the air. He hoped Buck was okay and, for once, not just flexing his muscles for some cute girl somewhere.

From behind him Buck’s mom asked, “He said he’s paying you back. Is that true?”

He turned, tilting his head in her direction but the change in angle didn’t help him understand any better. “Ma’am? I don’t -” 

“The jacket. Buck told me not to worry about it because I know it was expensive. Said he already started paying you back a couple of nights ago, but he tells the truth like a typical teenager.” She threw a hairy eyeball in Chris’ direction, making her point. “He needs to pay his own way. I just want to make sure he’s not taking advantage of you. I’d like to think I taught him better than that.”

Taking advantage of me, Chris thought. He drifted back to the table remembering Buck’s body and lips and blue, blue eyes. The sense memory exploded heavy in his chest, and dread weighed him firmly into his seat. Distantly, he watched Buck’s mom shove a small mountain of food in front of him and tell him to eat.

_‘… he already started paying you back a couple of nights ago …’_

_A couple of nights ago_ Chris had been in no mood for company, hiding out at the stables and working off fresh family frustration when Buck had shown up with ill-gotten liquor and a big smile. Buck had talked a blue streak, his comedy routine making Chris laugh and they’d reclined on the grazing grass overlooking the Larabee thoroughbred farm, quietly sharing the bourbon between them, feeling like adults.

By the time dusk had mellowed into night, Chris had been okay to face the world again, shoulder to shoulder with his best friend. That he could confide in someone, depend on someone, someone who listened and cared was something money couldn’t buy, and he’d reveled in it.

But then there had been drunken wrestling, the laughter and easy manhandling becoming stilted and self-conscious when he realized he was so excited by Buck’s familiar touch. That night had descended into unknown territory, as weird as it was precious, when Buck hovered over him and said _please_ when Chris had been uncertain.

No one had ever asked Chris anything in that way, and Chris hadn’t said anything in reply, especially not _no_.

Lips and tongue were a familiar sensation made unfamiliar because of who was doing it; the heat and squeeze and wet of it making it something far beyond intimate. Chris had been mostly dressed but he’d felt completely naked, exposed, while he watched the stars rain down all around him. And then Buck had kissed him and the world had snapped back into focus. Only different. Perfect.

_‘… he already started paying you back …’_

Buck’s mother was saying the same phrase over and over again. Or maybe it was the only thing he could hear. He looked at his food, wishing she would say something different. Some of the tiny crumbs of cornmeal on his fish were blackened and the mashed potatoes and thick, brown gravy were still steaming. He couldn’t smell any of it.

Two days had passed and nothing was awkward with Buck, just better. But there hadn’t been a repeat performance. In retrospect, Chris wondered why they hadn’t done anything beyond share a couple of goofy, secret smiles. Their usual routine hadn’t wavered, and Chris had been hoping for something he couldn’t name. It wasn’t just sex. It couldn’t be.

It wasn’t like he didn’t have experience with Ella. She was older and couldn’t have been more predatory if she’d had claws and fangs, but Chris’ mother hated her, and for that reason, Ella had been great fun to keep around. At least until she’d ditched him for college. Right after she walked out the door, his brother Adam, the pride and joy of the Larabee family, died on some unknowable Army op in another country and nothing else had mattered for a long time. He hadn’t thought about Ella or cared about dating or family or school or social expectations or friends. He’d gone through the motions but was disconnected and angry for what felt like forever. And then Buck had shown up and they’d gravitated to each other, finding solace and strength and a grounding connection in a mutual orbit.

_‘… paying you back …’_

Chris wanted to deny it. He wanted to believe what happened wasn’t somehow connected to the jacket. And Buck might say it wasn’t, but Buck could lie faster than a dog could trot. Chris would always tease him when Buck would juggle girlfriends and then be caught out with more than one at a time. Now those memories hurt. The bitter burn of jealousy in his chest and throat made him angry with himself. After all, what the hell did he expect?

Maybe it was his own fault for offering things to Buck, material things Buck enjoyed. Chris didn’t give a shit about money and he liked buying things for Buck because it made Buck happy like a little kid at Christmas. Is that what the blowjob was? Something that didn’t matter to Buck? Something that would make Chris happy so Buck did it to even out some imagined debt? Had Buck done it out of guilt? Or worse, had he done it out of friendship?  

Chris had spent two days thinking one night with Buck was better than anything he’d ever had with Ella. At least Ella had never lied to him.

Lightning struck nearby, rattling the windows and making the electricity flicker. It forced him to tune in Buck’s mother like a radio signal. She was chatting her way through her meal, talking about how she’d like to bake Chris a cake for graduation. “Three layers of cocoa and pecans. You’ll love it. It’s a family heirloom recipe from my great Grandmammy.” He slumped in his seat, realizing how much he’d miss Angelica Wilmington. He’d miss everything about her.

Thunder cracked like a whip, startling them both, and when she glanced out the door, concern all over her face, he decided he’d rather take his chances with Mother Nature than wait around for Buck to show up waving some new girl’s phone number.

He pushed his chair back. “I have to go. I just remembered something important. Thanks for dinner.” The food remained untouched and Chris glanced at the crystal glass again. It didn’t look charming after all. It just looked out of place.

“But you haven’t eaten. Is something wrong, honey?”

Chris couldn’t even look at her, just shook his head and walked out as it started to drizzle. He stopped, coming back in long enough to leave Buck’s house key on the table.

“Christopher Michael, where are you _going_? You’re going to get wet. There’s lightning!”

He left the trailer at a dead run, successfully staying ahead of the rain on his way home, but after a few minutes he settled into a jog, then a slow, heavy walk, letting the storm catch him.

***

When the call came hours later, he expected it. The phone rang while Chris lay in the dark, pretending to be asleep.

What would he say if he answered it? Would it be like any other conversation on any other night?

_Did you get lucky tonight, Buck?_

Buck would say he's lucky every night. No sense in asking a question if you don’t want to hear the answer.

Three rings.

He could be wrong about Buck. Or he could be right. But the truth was Buck had one more year in school while Chris was a week away from leaving home for a career with the Navy. Things change, whether you wanted them to or not. He knew better than to start something he couldn’t finish and even if he stayed, what difference would it make? Buck had always been about the girls—and why not if he could get laid every time he opened his mouth? Buck was doing all the things Chris had become bored with.

Five rings.

Chris knew his reasoning sounded logical. And it was all shit. He felt like someone had cracked his ribs apart and hollowed out his chest. He didn’t know why his breathing sounded normal when he was obviously missing his lungs. It wasn’t a big deal his best friend gave him a blowjob. Except it had nothing to do with the sex, and he was a coward for not even bringing it up.

_Hey, Buck, you know the other night when you went down on me? The best part was when you kissed me. The way you looked at me._

What a stupid thing to say to Buck. What a stupid thing to say to anyone. Buck was probably the smart one here. Have a good time and move on.

He opened his eyes and watched the angled square of light on his bedroom wall and the sharp shadow of one tree branch waving in the wake of the thunderstorm. It looked like a long skeleton arm with a huge hand brushing his bedroom ceiling.

Waving hello. Waving goodbye.

Eight rings. The answering machine would be picking up.

When he’d said goodbye to his brother, Adam, he hadn’t know it was forever.

Chris tripped and skidded into the door in his sudden rush to get to the kitchen downstairs. If Buck left a message on the answering machine, Chris wanted to hear it.

He made it to the stairwell just in time to hear the beep and Buck’s tinny, echoing voice.

“My mother is so pissed. Really pissed. Do you know how pissed my mother is? Never mind, you don’t wanna know. Why didn’t you eat dinner? She said you walked out into the storm. I knew you were crazy but not that crazy.” A short pause. Long enough for hope to come crawling up Chris’ throat and hold his mouth open, waiting. “Look, bud, I... want you to meet someone. Her name's Lisa. I think you'll like her. What are you doing tomorrow?”

He didn’t bother listening to anything else. It was the same conversation they’d had on any other night.

Back in his room, he crawled under the covers and pulled the pillow over his head. It didn’t stop him from remembering the stars falling from the sky.

One week left until graduation.

Good thing he was leaving.

Good thing he was already gone.


End file.
